


The Trials of God

by hushlittlewolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hushlittlewolf/pseuds/hushlittlewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to be Sam.</p><p>Not his littlebabyeverything brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trials of God

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this after the first trial. Enjoy!
> 
> My tumblr: http://the-wild-wolves-around-you.tumblr.com

The Trials of God.

Dean tries not to laugh because he knows it will come out jagged and bitter, broken glass and pieces of himself.

His whole life has been a trial designed by God and it’s one he keeps on failing. He tried to remove himself once, stop being a player in this sadistic game created by a Creator who quit caring a long time ago, but he’s always,  _always,_ pulled back in.

He’s bound; he’s trapped; and he’s accepted it.

Dean is going to die bloody and alone and that’s just his lot; not part of “the Life”, but Dean’s specific burden to bear. Call it fate or a familial curse or the fault of a deadbeat Dad that left his children with no instruction and a live grenade. Call it what you will. Dean doesn’t care; he doesn’t question. He was always daddy’s blunt little instrument. Might as well be his Father’s too.

But it was supposed to be  ** _him._** Because there’s no light at the end of his tunnel, he gave up looking long ago. It was supposed to be  ** _him,_** the high school drop out who never amounted to anything, the one who has nothing in his head but mullet rock lyrics, 1000 ways to gank supernatural things, and memories upon memories, stretching back as long as he can remember, of…

Sam.

It wasn’t supposed to be  ** _Sam._**

Not his  _littlebabyeverything_ brother.

He had paid his dues, his soul, his sanity. He was supposed to get  **out** (even if it would kill Dean to be left behind); he was supposed to have the life Dean never would: 2.5 kids, a little woman, and white picket fences.

Sammy was the smart one; always had been. When weighed against his brother, Dean was always found lacking. And he was fine with that. Sam deserved so much more than he ever did anyway.

But he didn’t deserve  ** _this._**

It was supposed to be Dean—the blunt instrument with his head full of sawdust—but the **instant** that hellhound’s blood spilled across Sam’s chest, burnt into his skin, claimed him for God (and he  ** _wasn’t._** Not God’s or Lucifer’s but Dean’s, Dean’s _Dean’s)_ Dean knew that he had lost; that he had failed  _again._

The Trials of God.

Dean laughed and tasted blood, tasted salt.

More like the Trials of Losing Sammy again _again **again.**_


End file.
